Broken, Smashed, Gone
by XLadySnowX
Summary: What if Dean HAD gotten away? Chrissie/Dean. One-Shot. Read and Review. No flames please.


**Title: **Broken, Smashed, Gone.

**Pairings: **Dean/Bailey (implied), Chrissie/Eric (implied), but Chrissie/Dean for my liking. :D

**Summary: **What if Dean HAD gotten away? Chrissie/Dean. One-Shot. Read and Review. No flames please.

**Warnings: **Graphic violence and swearing, mostly.

**Rating: **T to be safe.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning. I'm just playing with characters.

**Timeline: **During and after TTCM: TB

**Notes: **None. Just enjoy.

**Author: **Just sit back, relax and enjoy.

When Dean came to, the whole world seemed different. He looked at it differently. Some people say, after you've been through somewhat traumatic experiences, the following moments seem to be moving in slow motion. None of that was happening to Dean right now. It all seemed real, terrifyingly real. He would have given anything in the world for this to have been a dream. He wanted to wake up in the cabbage smelling motel room with Bailey at his side. But he knew that this wasn't a dream. No dream could possibly be this sadistic.

Batting his eyelashes a few times, he sucked in a sharp breath.

There lay Bailey, peaceful looking. He was about to talk to her, to try to wake her up, when he saw the blood. Blood pouring over the table cloth and so close to him.

This couldn't be real. He closed his eyes briefly, praying that this was fake. Opening his eyes, the blonde still lay there. Lifeless.

He allowed a small tear to escape. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hold Bailey's body. He wanted Bailey to wake up and smile at him. What he wouldn't give for one last smile…

Before he knew what he was doing, Dean was up. Suddenly, he became aware that he was, in fact, sitting down. He was sitting at a dinner table. A few inches from where his head had been, was a crappy plaid bowl with meat-looking contents inside. Other than him and Bailey, there was one man who looked close to death.

His eyes went wide.

"_**Help! Help us please!"**_

"_**I don't get involved in his affairs… no…"**_

He was the guy who'd refused to help them out. If only that bastard had let them out… Bailey would still be alive…

His heart thumped.

Where were Chrissie and Eric?

Dean walked, slightly shaky, towards the archway in the wall. This way just better get him out.

As he approached closer, he heard a few voices talking. Slowly, he crept a little closer. Directly out the front door on the porch, stood the Sheriff. Dean ducked at first, but realised the Sheriff had his back to him.

Perfect kill.

Dean's fear and guilt over Bailey was soon replaced with anger and the impulse to kill. Quick as he could, Dean bolted out the door, just as the Sheriff turns around. He saw his eyes dilate slightly as Dean knocked him in the face. The Sheriff fell to the ground; face first, with a violent thud. Dean bent down, his instincts screaming at him. All he wanted to do was make the Sheriff pay. Make him feel pain. Make him bleed.

Grabbing the back of the Sheriff's head, Dean bashed it against the hardwood porch ground.

"You Motherfucker!"

He hit it again.

"Now… let's see what kind of soldier YOU are, Sheriff!"

He pounded his head into the floor again.

"ONE! That was beautiful form Sheriff!"

He did it again.

"TWO! Half way doesn't count dickhead!"

Dean was, admittedly, starting to surprise himself. Never had he been able to tap into this kind of anger before. Then again, nobody had ever murdered his girlfriend before, and possibly butchered his brother and his friend. The thought of Chrissie and Eric being dead hurt Dean severely. He had emptiness inside his stomach. Loneliness, perhaps. But he had no time to dwell on that now. This was revenge.

He hit the Sheriff's head again.

"THREE! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!?"

The rage took Dean over. Repeatedly, he smashed the Sheriff's head into the ground. By now, he was bleeding pretty badly, but that didn't stop the Sheriff earlier today when Eric was bleeding, did it?

"YOU KILLED MY GIRLFRIEND! FUCK YOU ASSHOLE! FUCK YOU!"

Dean paused, panting angrily.

"My money says you aren't going anywhere."

Dean did one final, hard pound into the ground. The Sheriff groaned and spat out a tooth and a lot of blood. There was blood all over that part of the porch. He's messed the Sheriff up pretty good…

He almost smiled. Almost. Never had he felt such power, such control. It scared him, but he almost enjoyed that. He thought, at first, maybe it was because the Sheriff had killed Bailey. But then he was starting to think maybe it was in him, like Eric had said. They were brothers after all, and they came from a long line of soldiers. Maybe Dean just should have gone to Vietnam, after all…

The victory was good, while Dean savoured it. But the sound of a chainsaw broke him from his train of thoughts.

His blue eyes darted behind him, panicked. But there was a brief wash of relief as he heard it from the distance. Relief… until he heard Chrissie scream.

"Chrissie!" he yelled, and he found himself running. Running in the direction of the sound of the chainsaw. How insane was that? But, his instincts had told him to wake up when he did, thus he had managed to get the Sheriff. It can't have been luck. Let's just see if Luck had it in for him for a second time…

The grass was long, but surprisingly, it wasn't difficult to move. Dean's legs carried him a great distance, and at great speed. Everything about him since he woke up surprised him. It was amazing what strength and ability you could tap into when you were pissed and scared. His surroundings worked with him a little after he got out of the weeds. It was mostly flat ground, which allowed Dean to run faster. Around him were mostly trees… a few barb-wire fences, but nothing he hadn't already seen before.

He came to an abrupt stop when he came out of the weed. He looked in all directions, adrenaline pumping. He nearly screamed. Dean had lost track of the screaming and the sounds of the chainsaw. Thankfully, his eyes landed in the direction he wanted… or didn't want. It was hard to tell, right now.

About 30 yards away was a dimly moonlit path. And, maybe 60 more yards along, was a building. He remembered seeing that while he was driven up here. It was the Slaughter House. He didn't know what made him do it, but he headed in that direction. He felt more and more confident with each passing step as he ran…

Before he knew it, he came to a sudden stop at the front of the Slaughter House. He leant against the steel door for a moment, hoping to catch a sound from inside, to prove his instincts correct. It took a few moments, but eventually he heard a small gasp and a "clang" of something hitting metal.

He knew, if he didn't act fast, Chrissie was going to die. If she wasn't already – but he had to be sure. There was no way he was leaving her behind if he didn't know for a fact she was dead. Darting around the side, Dean came to a side door. He paused, fear washing over him. What if he didn't make it out alive? What if this was the last thing he ever did before he died?

Dean's train of thoughts led him back to Bailey. What was the first thing _she _thought about before she died? Bailey didn't have the luxury Dean did: she wasn't able to run away, save herself, like he has. But if he ran now, he'd die of guilt. Guilt of being a selfish son of a bitch and leaving Chrissie behind to die. He had to do it. He loved Chrissie, genuinely. Maybe more than he loved Bailey. It was something horrible he carried around inside him, like a burden, but he did. He loved his brother's girl. And he hated himself for it. But it wasn't something he should focus on now…

Opening the door as quietly as he could, Dean snuck in without a second thought. The strong smell of death hit him like a hurricane, and he did all he could to stop him from coughing and gagging loudly. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly. This meant no alerting the enemy of your presence. Although, he wasn't sure WHO the enemy was. He had pretty much knocked the Sheriff into the next century back at the house, so who could be attacking Chrissie?

He didn't know. Right now, he didn't care. Dean just wanted to get Chrissie and get the hell outta dodge.

The inside of the Slaughterhouse was pretty big. Not enough to get lost, but a good place to hide. Dean looked around panicky, hoping not to run into the psycho. He ran into one, two of them, and he didn't need to run into one again. Creeping along in the darkness, Dean tried to be quiet. He succeeded, too. Apparently, going to war wasn't the only thing he inherited from his family. He also acquired stealth and strength he never had any idea he possessed.

Finally, after a few second of nothing, he saw, directly in front of him, the man… or whatever he was, that had lifted the dead biker from the car earlier that day when he was with Eric and Bailey. He stifled a gasp, but retreated quietly and quickly a few steps. Coming to a realisation that he was not facing Dean's direction, he sighed mentally with relief. He thought it'd be safer that way, because one small slip would alert the enemy of his presence. He almost laughed at how army like that sounded. It was all catching up to him now…

Dean backed off a few more steps, and looked at where he was heading. The smell was a little stronger around this area of the Slaughterhouse. He was guessing this was where most of the killing and cutting took place. All of it reeked with death. Almost like the house back on the hill. He watched, and waited in the darkness. Before anything more happened, Dean kept his eye on the man while he searched for a weapon. Eventually, he came to a long, sharp butcher knife.

'Perfect.' He thought 'Where the hell are you, Chrissie?' His heart starting to pump again, Dean had a feeling that Chrissie had to be alive. Otherwise this… Thing, for lack of a better term, wouldn't be searching the area so hard. Finally, it came to the Final showdown. He saw, emerging from a blood pool, was Chrissie, brandishing her own knife. She yelled and stabbed the Man in the back. He roared, his chainsaw shaking. Grabbing hold of the back of Chrissie's head, he tugged hard and fast, making her scream in pain and pulling her out of the pool.

'Time to see what you're made of, Hill…'

Racing out from the darkness, he emerged from behind the Man, and stabbed the knife hard and deep into his back. This shocked him more than it hurt him. The Man roared in pain, and tried feebly to gain control over the knife which was plunged into his back, howling even more. Dean raced around the struggling man, and helped the shocked-but-grateful Chrissie up onto her feet. The two glanced at the Man, who looked at them both. He seemed to ignore the knife in his back now, and charged full-frontal onto the two.

Both of them screamed, and began to run. Dean tried to keep Chrissie beside him, but she was able to run faster than him. Which, in any other situation, would have embarrassed him, but right now wasn't a good time for gender studies. They could hear the sound of a chainsaw starting up behind them. They were contained in the Slaughterhouse, without a way out. All the exits were back near the Chainsaw Man, and they couldn't double front, as that would prove to be lethal.

Dean stopped abruptly, which caused Chrissie to sob a little.

"Dean – come on!" she begged, pulling his arm. But he refused to budge. He kept his angry puppy blue eyes on the figure that was fast approaching. He could see Chrissie was in a rut, wanting to get away, but for the safety of future innocent by-passers, he figured it was best for everyone if he just ended this now. He waited with the butcher knife still in hand.

Chrissie was on the verge of breaking down. She was looking back and forth panicky, trying feebly to get Dean to move, but he was too motivated. He just hoped, more prayed, that if this didn't go down quite as he hoped, that this sick thing mutilating his body would give Chrissie enough time to run for it…

He shook the thoughts from his head. No time for thinking, just for acting…

Finally the moment had come as the Man approached, and he cranked the chainsaw. Dean leapt into action as Chrissie screamed:

"DEAN – NO!"

He ran straight into the Man. Now usually, this wouldn't have done a flying fuck, but with Dean's determination and his new found stealth, and since the man wasn't exactly expecting that, Dean bawled him over onto his back. The Chainsaw Man grunted briefly, but soon gained his senses back. As he reached for the chainsaw, of which had flown out his hand, Dean raised the knife high above his head and screamed. Thrusting the knife down, it cut into the Man with some struggle at first.

But Dean soon pulled it out, and did it again. He was aware of how horrifying this looked to Chrissie, and maybe she thought he'd sunk to the Chainsaw Man's level, but Dean needed revenge. For himself, for Chrissie, whatever those psychos had done to her, for Bailey and Eric…

Dean suddenly became away of the synchronicity of his stabs. At first, the Chainsaw man had protested, trying to shove Dean off of him and reach for his trusty chainsaw, but Dean's first blow had been directly in his chest, making him almost immobile to do anything.

Stab, stab, stab…

Over and over.

Blood sprayed all over Dean in the process. Come time Dean had finished, the Chainsaw Man was nothing but a bloody pulp. In all, he must have stabbed him over 30 times. Drawing out a small, shaky breath, Dean looked down at his white shirt. The moon luminated through the window, allowing him to see well. His white shirt was now, pretty much red. Dropping the knife beside him, his adrenaline died.

Never in his life had he experienced such a rush of pure, murderous rage. He didn't like it; he never wanted to be that angry ever again. But something inside him told him that there wasn't much need to be that angry again – nothing would ever touch this situation for the rest of his life. His life. The one he knew he'd be allowed to live now.

'_Because you didn't give in' _a voice rang through his head _'You should've used that in the War…'_

He knew this was true. But there was no way he was going to Nam now. Dean knew he'd be able to handle himself, but there'd just be too much explaining to do. Plus, there was no way he'd make it before shipping anyway…

He had a life, and he was going to live it. Not firing guns or crawling through life patties. Not to mention, there was also another person to consider now…

Chrissie.

He'd completely forgotten.

A full minute must have passed, before Dean grew the courage to look over his shoulder. The young girl had her arms around herself, shivering a little. His glance found her face, which was unreadable. She looked sad, somewhat astonished, but mostly relieved. As she caught his gaze, she swallowed and looked at her feet briefly.

"We should go." She said softly.

Dean nodded, and took one last glance at the corpse he was aware he was still sitting on. Climbing off the body, Dean got to his feet. With one last disdainful glance at the corpse, he made his way over to Chrissie.

There was a moment when neither could quite find a thing to say to each other. What Dean had done had surprised, and slightly worried them both. Dean more so. He couldn't find a word to say about the subject. He just wanted to get as far away from Texas as possible, alert the police, live his life...

Life.

'_I hope I don't end up like that for the rest of my life…'_

But Chrissie moved closer to Dean. She glanced at his ankle, which, not too long ago, was caught in a wolf trap. Taking hold of one of his bloody arms, she shifted it over her own shoulder. He allowed himself to lean on her, but only slightly. He looked at her somewhat hopefully, as the two started towards the exit.

Chrissie looked at him, and as Dean could see, there was a hint of a smile on her face.

"Let's get out of here..."

XXXXXXXXXXX

The air seemed crisper. Unusually. Brandishing an arm over Chrissie's shoulder, the two slowly limped towards the nearest car. Neither could find a single thing to say to each other. What they had witnessed inside, they knew, would haunt them forever. But, one good thing came out of it. He glanced at Chrissie, and smiled weakly. It took a moment before she looked over at him. She saw his smile, and smiled back weakly. Dean could see grief in her eyes, terrible grief. And he knew, in his heart, his brother was dead. He didn't need to ask.

Biting his bottom lip, he thought it over a little. His older brother was gone. His life was snuffed out like a candle, like it was nothing, just like Bailey. He fought back tears, trying to prove that he was stronger than he gave himself credit for. If he had just gone to Vietnam in the first place, they wouldn't be in this situation. If only he was man enough…

It was as if Chrissie had read his mind. Stopping dead in their tracks, Chrissie turned Dean to face her. She didn't say anything, and neither did he. This situation, the way they felt at that point in time, was solely between them and them only. The circumstances were beyond words. But instead, she brought her free hand up and brushed his blonde bangs out of his eyes. Dean smiled a little, and Chrissie returned it. He wasn't sure whether it was grief over Bailey and Eric, and the need for some comfort in this bleak situation, or buried feelings they had, but who knows. Leaning forward, Chrissie pressed her lips against Dean's.

The kiss was only short, about 4 seconds long, but it was sweet. She pulled back, but didn't meet his eyes. Maybe she was embarrassed, maybe she felt guilty, but who knows what the hell they felt at that point in time. A mixture – relief, lust, grief, fright and anxious. It was enough to confuse anybody. Soon though, she met his eyes again, and they both smiled in unison.

Finally, they made their way out of the area that was the Slaughterhouse, leaving this place, and its macabre memories behind. It was pure luck, what happened next, however. Somewhat 2 yards after walking, they came to a red, workable mustang… with the keys inside. The work of God? No… Dean didn't believe in that crap. Not after this. God couldn't be around if such things happened in the world.

Dean got in the drivers side, while Chrissie quickly (but unnecessarily) jogged over to shotgun. Dean waited till she was in the car completely, before starting it up. It revved almost immediately, and Dean legged it, pulling the car out along the dusty, dirt road. He started off at a quick pace, because he had an eerie feeling that the man with the Chainsaw, whoever he was, was not far behind them… and alive. But slowly, his adrenaline calmed, and so did he.

He glanced over at Chrissie, who just had a look of pure relief. She was covered head-to-toe in cow//sheep//pig blood, yet she was still beautiful. Although he couldn't say much, he too was covered in blood. Dean smiled a little, spite himself. She obviously caught glance of this, because she looked over, and sighed again. It was a long, hearty sigh. His heart jumped a little. Even if they never kissed again, he prayed she didn't regret it. Because that would hurt worse than anything he needed right now. But Chrissie returned the smile, and slowly, shifted closer to Dean until both their bodies were touching.

Dean frowned, unsure of what she was doing at first. But then she sighed again, this time tiredly. Dean hesitantly wrapped an arm around her shoulder, knowing that right now, she just needed to feel loved and there-for. Chrissie leant into his arm, and shifted till she was comfortable. In a matter of moments, Dean heard her shaky breathing turn calm, and he realised she was asleep.

What a night. What a day. What a… everything. He just knew that no matter how close this made him and Chrissie now, he didn't ever want that to happen. But maybe it was inevitable. Maybe Eric and Bailey had to die; maybe it was their time to go…

He shook his head again, this time a little harder. There were too many "maybes" that ran through his head that night, and he was sick of them. Dean just wanted to forget everything that happened, and live life as he could. Perhaps it would be in fear, or maybe he could get over it. Whatever time had in store for him, he'd find out soon.

Dean then became aware that the radio had been on the entire time. Changing from the previous song, just as he glanced at it, the song "FreeBird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

"I'll be damned." He whispered, shaking his head. Turning it up a little bit so it was hear able, he let the soothing music wash over him.

Quietly, Dean sang along with the radio.

"_If I leave here tomorrow  
Would you still remember me?  
For I must be travelling on, now,  
cause theres too many places Ive got to see.  
But, if I stayed here with you, girl,  
Things just couldnt be the same.  
cause Im as free as a bird now,  
And this bird you can not change.  
Lord knows, I cant change._

Bye, bye, its been a sweet love.  
Though this feeling I cant change.  
But please dont take it badly,  
cause lord knows Im to blame.  
But, if I stayed here with you girl,  
Things just couldnt be the same.  
Cause Im as free as a bird now,  
And this bird youll never change.  
And this bird you can not change.  
Lord knows, I cant change.  
Lord help me, I cant change…"

The end.

Read and review, I hoped you liked it. :D


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